


Breakaway

by taormina



Category: Take That (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Arguments, Cars, M/M, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, dui maybe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2015-04-29
Packaged: 2018-03-26 08:35:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3844264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taormina/pseuds/taormina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Howard’s car breaks down in the middle of the night, Jason is the last person he wants to be thinking of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breakaway

**Author's Note:**

> Deals with Jason's departure in a big way.

 

Howard knew all too well that the average shelf life of a boy band is nothing to write home about. Especially now that Take That were reaching twenty-five years of more or less being together, the scary thought that the general public would lose interest in them at some point was becoming more and more of a reality. Their fans wouldn’t love them forever, and the press definitely wouldn’t either.

Even _Gary_ wasn’t immune to people’s scrutiny.

With every day that passed, the inevitable end of the band came closer and closer. Howard, understandably, wanted to postpone it as much as possible. He didn’t want to embark on a soppy farewell tour on the back of a cash-in greatest hits album. He wanted the band to keep going until they bloody well could, until they were so old and so grey that they’d have to hire stand-ins for the _Pray_ routine, so when Jason announced that he’d be leaving the band effective immediately, the end of Take That suddenly became very, very real.

Howard was the first to find out about it.

Jason hadn’t planned telling Howard that night, not really. The clock approaching 11PM, he and Howard had had one or two drinks in some pub in a remote corner of England (well, Howard had; Jason was drinking sparkling water). An informal band meeting had been planned for the next morning, and knowing Gary’s knack for letting them work harder than any individual had ever done in the history of the world, they were rather dreading it. Spending quality time in this pub made Howard and Jason not worry so much about the day ahead anymore.

After Howard had asked Jason how he was getting on with the book that he had given him, the conversation suddenly shifted to the band.

Howard said he’d written a few lyrics that he was keen on showing Gary tomorrow, and rather than compliment Howard on his diligence like he ordinarily would, Jason sort of stared at him funny. For a second, Howard thought Jason was mocking him. Jason said he wasn’t. When Howard then asked Jason ‘So what’re you looking at me like that for then?’, Jason looked around to check whether anyone was listening in, leaned forward and lowered his voice to say that he was thinking of leaving the band.

The confession was supposed to be a momentous occasion, _the_ moment of truth, but the sounds of a few drunken ladies rather dampened the statement.

Howard, being Howard, just laughed and brushed it off.

‘Very funny, Jay.’ Howard said. He ordered more drinks.

‘I’m serious, How,’ said Jason gravely. He sighed deeply. These words weighed heavy on his heart. ‘Ehm, as you may or may not know, Howard, I’ve been … reflecting on my position within the band a lot lately and I’ve come to the conclusion that the band would …’

Howard scoffed and crossed his arms. Whatever Jason was about to say, he didn’t want to hear it.

Behind them, there were whoops of excitement. It was a stark contrast from the strange turn Howard and Jason’s conversation had suddenly taken.  

Jason straightened. ‘It’s not that I don’t _like_ Take That, it’s just … I just don’t think I’ve contributed enough, you know? I do enjoy the perks of being in the band, you know, the privileges, the amazing countries we’ve visited, et cetera, _but_ …’

Another sigh. Jason looked as though he was working hard to get his feelings into words. He knew he had to get them right. ‘I feel like wasting my time trying to compete with your ingenuity and creativity when I’d be much more content, as it were, living my life outside the constant … _cycle_ , I suppose, of being in Take That.’

Jason looked at Howard expectantly. The words were out, albeit in a slightly different manner than he’d rehearsed. Every time Jason imagined breaking the news, heaviness was lifted off his shoulders. Now, it felt like someone had nailed him to the ground instead, awaiting doom.

‘ _Rubbish_ ,’ was all that Howard said. He took a sip of his beer. ‘I’m telling you Jay, you’re talking absolute crap. Is _this_ what you brought me here for?’

A waitress brought them more drinks. Howard didn’t even thank her.

‘Let –  Let me rephrase that, Howard, _please_.’ Jason said, sensing tension in the air. He didn’t want to get into an argument. ‘If you go up to Gary tomorrow and let him read those lyrics you wrote, which, you know, he’ll undoubtedly love, you, ehm … We both know we’ll be spending the next six months recording, and before we can so much as take a breath someone will hand us our itineraries saying, _You have to be at this radio studio today, you have to show up at this award show in Germany_ , whatever. It’s just so _confined_ ,’ Jason added when he saw that Howard was shaking his head. ‘ _D’you know what I mean_?’

Howard didn’t. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

In 2005, the idea behind getting back into the studio in the first place was _to enjoy making music again_ , to enjoy being in the same room as your mates without wanting to kill each other over some old nineties feud. There’d be no more silly arguments, no more trying to out-do one another.

If one member was having a hard time, if one member wasn’t _enjoying_ it, then what was the whole point? What was the point of being in a band together if the feelings they had weren’t mutual?

 ‘It’s a shit idea, Jason. You can’t just _leave_ ,’ Howard said, the word ‘leave’ lingering on his lips as though the whole concept of another member of Take That departing was the most preposterous thing he’d ever heard.

Actually, whatever, it _was_ the most preposterous thing he’d ever heard. What the fuck was Jason thinking?

‘ _Robbie_ left,’ said Jason. He set his jaw.

‘Well, Rob’s different, isn’t he?’

Jason’s eyes narrowed as he watched Howard start his second pint of the night. ‘I can’t take you seriously like that, Howard. So you’re saying Robbie can leave the band whenever he desires because he’s preoccupied being Robbie Williams, but I’m a backing dancer so … I can’t?’

Howard laughed nervously. ‘I never said that, Jay.’

‘You didn’t have to.’

After that, the conversation heated up very quickly. Howard called Jason a selfish bastard, saying that he’d be letting the band down if he left and that Take That would make a ‘shit three-piece’ anyway.  
  
Jason then calmly accused Howard of not being able to seehis side of the story, and that if Howard just tried to _listen_ instead of letting one pint of beer cloud his judgment, he’d understand.   

More regrettable things were said in the course of a few minutes (most of them Howard’s), and after Howard stupidly accused Jason of having been ‘lazy’ when they promoted Progress, Jason decided he’d had enough. He quietly got up, tipped the waitress considerably, grabbed his things and went out without another word.

He’d always known that Howard would be the hardest to convince that his leaving would make him a happier person. After all the things they’d done and been through together, he didn’t blame him.

He wished he’d told them simultaneously. He wished he’d waited until tomorrow.

He wished he hadn’t said anything at all. Perhaps not showing up at the band meeting tomorrow would have been an easier, less painful way of letting the others know what he was thinking.

|||

Howard, teething with rage and regret, went out after Jason a little bit later. When Howard had finally managed to break through the excited crowd of drunken onlookers, Jason had already driven off into the night. This was a big problem: Jason was supposed to drive them both to Jay’s for a post-pubbing cup of tea and a brief chat about the band meeting the morning after. Howard might even have stayed the night (in Jason’s spare bedroom) if it turned out he was too pissed to head home.

Now, however, with the night having ended several hours earlier than intended, Howard had neither a lot of alcohol in his system, nor a means of transport.

He was stranded.

|||

After having decided that getting into a taxi was a definite no-no, Howard ended up asking the pub owner for help. He owed Howard a big favor, so Howard could borrow one of his old cars if he promised to bring it back in one piece. Howard said he would.

When Howard got into the car and started the engine, he found himself faced with the realization that he had absolutely no idea what he wanted to do. It’s like his mind had gone blank. Staying in the pub and drinking himself silly until the early hours of the morning suddenly seemed like a much better alternative now that he was sitting behind the wheel of someone else’s car with no real plan of action. It wasn’t nice.

Then again, what would be the point of staying here? He couldn’t show up at tomorrow’s meeting with a hangover: that was something they did in the _nineties._ Back then, he’d probably have woken up the next morning with two prostitutes in a bed that wasn’t his own. He’d probably have gone to the meeting with half a bottle of gin in his hand.

Or had that been Rob? He couldn’t quite remember.

He could try to follow Jason home, but he couldn’t quite picture Jason letting him in like nothing had happened. Jason wasn’t one to hold a grudge, not really, but he did know that Jason took a hell of a lot of time to go over the arguments he’d had in his head.

Unfortunately, going home wasn’t an option either; he was miles away and the car he was in probably wouldn’t make it beyond the town border.

 _God, he really hadn’t thought this through at all, had he?_  
  
|||

In the end, Howard decided to drive around town until he felt better and then check into some roadside hotel. He’d take the train home in the morning to collect his laptop with his Take That stuff and figure out how he was going to repay the pub owner later. He’d also have to figure out how he was going to go to the band meeting without wanting to top himself. _Much_ later.

As it turned out, the drive _didn’t_ make Howard feel better; all that kept running through his mind was the conversation he and Jason had had. Words he regretted saying. Things he wished he’d said instead. Lame excuses. Signs that he should have spotted earlier. Past conversations that Howard should have paid more attention to.

Truth is though, Howard had been so busy enjoying Take That, and so busy trying to make it work that he hadn’t quite understood the significance of Jay’s absence in interviews. His reluctance to sing, even if it was just one line of _Never Forget_. The way he’d looked at him at the end of the tour in Munich. Had Jason already known then?

_Christ, he probably had._

Still Howard found it hard to grasp, even though he knew all too well that Take That was now about making compromises. Letting people out and taking new people in. Working together. Allowing others to speak their minds. No more of that ‘one man army’ thing they had going on in the nineties.

So why had Jason’s confession hurt him so much?

He tried to distract himself. Focus on the road. Forget about Jason with every mile that sped by.  
  
|||

The miles didn’t speed by at all. The road was bumpy, the seats were shit and smelled vaguely of beef (at least, Howard _assumed_ it was beef), and whereas most cars Howard owned were capable of reaching exhilarating top speeds, the pub owner’s car could easily be overtaken by a tractor. It was _that_ slow, and _that_ old. The languid speed didn’t correspond to Howard’s mood at all, and every time he tried to put his foot down nothing happened. It was extremely frustrating, for he knew he had to blow off steam, get rid of that last remaining strand of anger … but he couldn’t.

_Music, then. Give me music._

Howard tried the radio. He’d distract himself with BBC Radio Two or whatever.

They were playing _The Garden_. _Typical._

Understandably, that didn’t improve his mood either: he suddenly imaged the lyrics he’d written, now with a full production, _sung by the three of them_. No Jason; just him, Gary and Mark.

It didn’t seem right.

Would it work, though, theoretically?  The three of them? There was no more Robbie to keep them on their toes, at least not for the time being. Now, there wouldn’t be someone like Jason, either; someone to second-guess their work. Someone to calm them down. No more last-minute changes to songs because Jason rightly questioned a lyric there or a piano note there.

No m—

‘Crap.’

Howard didn’t know how, but he suddenly found himself in an ever-growing cloud of smoke.

Something must be wrong with the engine.

_God, why him?_

He parked the car at the side of a quiet dirt road as gently as he could, got out, and opened the bonnet. In the dark, with the car’s pathetic little headlamps  as the only source of light for yards, he couldn’t see a thing.

He reached in his pocket for his smartphone. Dead.

He waited for a car to head into his direction, but none came.

Ironically, he was now on his own.

If this was a metaphor for the future of the band, he didn’t want to be a part of it.

 


End file.
